Beyond

by Mercedes Lackey

  With the strength of too much pent-up rage, he raised Merrin off his feet by his lapels, jamming him against the amber paneling of the wall.

  “Come to gloat, have you, you little weasel?” he snarled. “Was this your plan all along? Did you know this was going to happen when we met at the Gate in Valdemar?”

  “Valdemar—” Merrin wheezed. “Wait—”

  “Wait for what?” He went hot and cold all over, then hot again. “Wait for you to drain my people and my lands dry? Wait for you to abuse them like a cheap mule? I know what I should do! I’m challenging you! You have your Spitter, I have mine. Right here! Right now!”

  “Valdemar, man, please—” There was real pleading in Merrin’s face, and, strangely, no fear. He hung in Kordas’s hands, completely unresisting. “Put me down, man. Let me explain.”

  “Why should I trust you as far as I can throw you?” Kordas growled.

  Merrin jerked his head at Star. “Ask your Doll. It’s a vrondi. It can tell I’m speaking the truth.”

  The unexpected words made his jaw drop and his hands loosened involuntarily, and Merrin slid down the wall, catching himself before he fell. “How did you know that?” he demanded, as Merrin self-consciously shook his coat into place, smoothed down his lapels, and brushed the skirt of the garment.

  “Because the first time I was here, some idiot decided he was going to lie in a petition in front of the Emperor, against one of the Emperor’s favorites, and the Emperor asked the Doll attending him if what the idiot was saying was the truth.” Merrin shrugged. “The Doll told him, of course. It didn’t end well. The Emperor ordered him to be fed to the Abyssal. Then the Emperor got a good laugh out of it, reminded everyone that the Dolls were vrondi, and ended the Court early. But ask it,” he continued. “Ask it if I’m telling you the truth.”

  Star spoke up, unprompted. “Everything he has said is true.”

  “Star,” Kordas said carefully, “are we being watched?”

  Star held up its hand, the one with the crest pin, which it did not cover.

  “All right,” Kordas said, fury still smoldering. “But this had better be good.”

  “Not here,” said Merrin, and crooked a finger. He led Kordas and Star to a Gate, held up his bracelet, and said, “Meditation Room.”

  They stepped out into a perfectly egg-shaped room that was like a jewel. Every fingerlength was covered in geometric mosaic patterns in blues and greens made of fragments of glass no bigger than an apple seed. There were blue cushions scattered about, and there were no windows, just a single soft white mage-light up at the top of the ceiling.

  “What . . . is this place?” Kordas asked.

  “Found it by accident. I had a horrible toothache and I’d packed my mouth with clevis oil pads. I tried to say ‘Healer, Dental, Medication Room’ and ended up here. Look there, and there, and there.” Merrin pointed, and Kordas clearly made out anti-scrying runes among the patterns. Merrin pushed his rapier out of the way, plopped himself down on a cushion, and with a gesture invited Kordas to do the same. “Nobody ever comes here. There is no one in the entire Palace who is self-aware enough to meditate.”

  Kordas choked on the laugh that the statement startled out of him. This . . . didn’t sound much like the “idiot” who had been spying so ineptly on him!

  “Kordas, I’m on your side. I have been since the Emperor acknowledged my title and directed me to spy on you.” Merrin looked sincere, and Star kept nodding. Kordas hardly knew where to look. “I—I was never a hostage, but Father took me with him on his yearly journeys here, then on journeys into other Duchies, ones that were ruled by the Emperor’s lickspittles, and took care to point out all the ways in which life was miserable there as well as in the Capital. When I was dazzled by luxury, he showed me the cost of that luxury. Then, when I inherited, and I came every year to the Regatta in his place, I saw even more personally what a hellhole the Emperor and his vanities, vagaries, and endless wars were making of the entire Empire. But Valdemar . . .” He shook his head. “Valdemar is not ‘beautiful,’ in the Imperial sense. It isn’t paved with Imperial ‘largesse,’ or trying to gain more attention from the Emperor. But the peace of the place, the compassionate way it’s run, the care you take for your people, your land, and your beasts before you even begin to think of yourself, make it a place of peace and quiet beauty. And when I took Father’s position and was invited to ‘keep an eye on you,’ I knew I had to do my best to support you, or all of that would be wiped away in the blink of an eye.”

  Kordas felt astonished. He glanced at Star in complete disbelief. Star nodded.

  “The best way I could think of to do that was to paint you as a complete bumpkin, a bumbler, someone who couldn’t see past the end of his nose. It wouldn’t have done to show you as competent—or as compassionate.” He sighed. “So all my reports showed a Valdemar that was little more than one large farm, built on land that was too poor to support anything but grazing, with a few things, like the barges and the horses, that were useful but not vital to the Empire. And a Duke that was little more than a competent farmer with brilliance in just one thing: breeding beautiful horses, and breeding the Chargers that the Knights of the Empire need in order to play the role of Imperial shock troops.” Now he grinned wryly. “It did help that you put that face forward yourself, so the initial independent spies the Emperor placed in the Duchy to verify my reports told him exactly the same thing.”

  Kordas scarcely believed his own ears. Oh Gods. We played each other. “You mean—all this time we’ve—?” he asked incredulously.

  Merrin nodded earnestly. “You knew I was a spy, of course, like my father was. I knew you were too intelligent not to know. As was your father and my father before you, and his and mine before him. My own goal was yours—to keep your lands from being stripped of resources and people. And please believe me, I never wanted to find myself being presented with the Duchy as if it was a prize for good penmanship.”

  Kordas fumed at that, and his mood instantly turned darker. “I want to punch you in the throat right now. So much.”

  Merrin held up both hands in a surrendering gesture. “Please don’t. We both know Valdemar is valuable, but we managed to get the Emperor to think it is not. I think the Emperor’s so used to power struggles that he thought when I spoke approvingly about Valdemar—well, he assumed I wanted it. I didn’t ask. He just assigned me as the new Duke of Valdemar and—that isn’t something to say ‘no’ to. The Emperor said it was his plan at the Blind Feast for you to be done away with, as a reminder to everyone else of the ‘high standards’ he demanded. I begged him, Kordas. I begged him. To let you live—the Emperor wanted you to be in the Fights, and if you survived it, you’d get a Barony. I came a hairsbreadth away from the Emperor making me fight you, then. He went through so many cruel ideas, man, I must have looked as pale as beach sand. But I convinced the Emperor that you were not made for Court, but that you were a horse-breeding genius, and for that you should stay on as a lesser noble, because of your loyal service.”

  Kordas burst out laughing. It was strained laughter, the kind that whistles through clenched teeth, and he shuddered. “Yes—of course—my loyal service!” These months, of thinking as fast as he could while staying in character—well, there was nothing funnier in Kordas’s mind at that moment than hearing he should be spared for his loyalty to the Empire. He knew he sounded off-kilter for laughing so uncontrollably, but he could not stop himself. After a hard swallow, he finally replied to Merrin, “So all that time you were in Valdemar was your—what? your vacation?—and you kept it going by making me think you were the worst spy ever?”

  Merrin chuckled a little himself, and replied, “Worst spy ever. It worked, didn’t it?”

  Kordas slapped his hands to his face. “I thought you were in Valdemar as a punishment sometimes. You were just so—so bad at being a spy.”

  Merrin shrugged,
hands apart. “It was the cover I invented, so I could stay longer.”

  “Which makes you the best spy ever.” Kordas looked to Star, who just nodded. “And it’s all true. We set you up so many times, and you had us set up the whole time. Oh, gods great and small, I worked so hard to make you view us as harmless, and every time I read your dispatches, I was convinced we were fooling you.”

  Merrin frowned a bit. “You could read them somehow? No, wait, that makes sense, when I think about it, but I never caught it at the time. All right. So not the best spy ever. What in all the Hells were you keeping hidden from me?”

  “Long story. Long story.” His fatigue was pulling back into a tight-cramped bunching of his back muscles, but otherwise, he felt a rush of blood as his heart rate increased. Some decisions were coming together about the situation. So when my people are all gone, Merrin will be Duke of an empty Duchy, and the Emperor will murder him for allowing it to happen. He’d get thrown into the Fights, killed on the spot, or much worse. I only encountered a few of the torments the Emperor had. I never saw the interrogation chambers, the dungeons, and Gods only know what else the Emperor delights in. Damn it! If I’d known Merrin wasn’t an enemy, we could have used the help of a spy so many times, for the Plan. What can be done to keep backlash off of Merrin and Valdemar?

  You know what. You’ve tried not to think of it, wondering if you had the nerve, or the skill, or what you’d have to face to accomplish it—but there is an opportunity now. There is a moment to act. The moment is soon. Think fast, think well. The Dolls. That has to be how.

  “But, anyway. The Emperor,” Merrin went on. “I argued your worth, and instead of being carted away still Blinded, you were given a Barony. Grudgingly. So it came to this—I want—that the real power in the Duchy remains with you, which I will . . . assuming . . .” He trailed off.

  “Assuming that the Emperor’s plan isn’t to strip the Duchy once you’re in the saddle,” Kordas said bitterly. “Which it probably is. Nobody would be given a title unless there was a demand in return. The Emperor wouldn’t make you a Duke unless he expected you to strip Valdemar bare to prove your loyalty to the Empire and its war. And most especially to him.”

  Merrin’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. “You don’t sound like a bumpkin right now.”

  “You have no idea what I am,” Kordas replied in an ominous tone. His tone wasn’t by mistake. His expression was hard-jawed and stormy now, like the shirt revealed as he began unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat at the top. “Star, have Beltran meet us at the Record Keeper’s desk. Now.”

  * * *

  —

  “What is known of the Imperial Office is this,” the Record Keeper showed them on an architectural plot. “The receiving area is divided from the desk by a barrier impervious to all but air and sound. The eastern wall has a door from the Petitioner’s Position and one from the Conquest Throne. The western wall has a Gate for egress from the receiving area, and another—on the other side of the barrier—for the Emperor. He generally only uses it to retire to the Imperial bedchamber. The floor is extra thick wool carpeting, and the Emperor’s side is walled in trophy cases and prizes of war.”

  Kordas traced fingers across the barrier line. “Can Dolls pass through this?”

  “No, my Lord,” the Record Keeper answered, “but this one gathers your intentions by the nature of your questions. This one finds itself not disapproving.”

  Merrin had been seated for some time, while Beltran told him an abbreviated explanation of the Plan. As Kordas put it, now Merrin was in the Plan up to his neck, so he had the choice of being an ally or being found dead in a canal—granted at least that much mercy. Something in Kordas’s tone made Merrin acquiesce immediately.

  “And the talismans you gave us to pass through Gates only Dolls could use—will they take us through here?” He tapped on the drawing.

  “Yes, my Lord,” the Record Keeper replied. “This one recommends you not move directly there from the receiving area, as the destination command might be overheard.”

  “Agreed. We’ll need one more Doll pass talisman, then.” Kordas turned part way around to look sharply into Merrin’s eyes. “Are you with me? Completely?”

  Merrin took a deep breath and replied, “I can’t say I have no choice, because I do. You’d be better off killing me, though—if I’m arrested, they’ll get everything out of me. Somehow. But yes—it is incredible to think anyone could have been as bold as you and yours have been, but yes. I am in.”

  Kordas turned back to the Record Keeper. “I need to know what Dolls can do to the Emperor without his specific permission—what those Dolls closest to him have been given blanket permission for. Dolls must be the Emperor’s body-servants, so do they need to ask to disrobe him?”

  The Record Keeper would have stared in shock, if it was able. The momentary pause told Kordas that the Doll had just been shocked by a realization, and had double-, maybe triple-checked it. “It was established many years ago that when the Emperor raises his arms we are free to disrobe or dress him, with no further command needed.”

  Merrin’s brows furrowed deeply and he raised a single finger. “Are you thinking of—”

  “Oh yes. Beltran, are you ready? You know how to use a Spitter, right?” The young man nodded and within moments of the nod, a Doll came from the Records halls bearing three cases, laid them on the Record Keeper’s desk, and opened all three up. An orange glow came from within one of the cases.

  “Is that—” Beltran began.

  Kordas nodded. “Amazing what Dolls have just lying around, isn’t it?”

  They conferred for another half-candlemark, practiced a few times, and then it was time to go.

  * * *

  —

  The softest of mage-lights was all that kept it from being unbearably bright. The initial shock of seeing the Emperor’s office left you with only one impression: unimaginable wealth, in gold.

  The furniture was gilded, with cloth-of-gold cushions. The ceiling was gilded. The doors had gold plate hammered over them. Anything made of metal was either solid gold or at least gold plated. The floor was gold carpet of tufted wool a knuckle deep, with a woven pattern of pure gold thread. The walls were not gold—they were a mosaic of actual amber of every possible color, and quite literally more valuable than gold. Golden frames enclosed daggers, swords, crowns, headdresses, polearms, and chalices.

  There were seven giant wolf statues made of gold and iron positioned around the office, in places where windows might have been. I’m surprised they aren’t of the Emperor, Kordas mused.

  There were guards everywhere outside of the Emperor’s private office, but once the doors were closed, there were no humans anywhere to be seen. Of course, given the amount of protections that Kordas could see with mage-sight, the Emperor didn’t need human guards in here after the doors were locked. There was a Gate in the wall to the left, the Dolls could come and go and bring him whatever he needed, and the magical protections around him would ensure no physical harm could come to him.

  All of those protection spells seemed to be emanating from a single object in the room. Which also made sense, given the decades—centuries!—the High Kings, and then the Emperors, had been sitting on the Conquest Throne.

  But that object was not, as Kordas had thought, the Wolf Crown. No, it was the heavy gold-and-iron carcanet that the Emperor wore. And that made sense, too. The spells had been forged into the gold—but the iron would by itself deflect any counter-spells. However much of a fool the current Emperor was, his predecessors had been shrewd indeed.

  In addition, there was a protective barrier between the desk and where they were standing. That came from the desk itself. Anyone who tried rushing the Emperor by going over that desk would just bounce right off it.

  He and Merrin stood side by side in the Imperial Office’s receiving area, as the Emperor prete
nded to read something. This, of course, was another demonstration of his power. Another petty demonstration. And Kordas knew that he would keep them standing there until he started to get bored. Only then would he get on with the business that brought them here—making official Kordas’s demotion, and Merrin’s promotion. There was nothing on that desk except a little gold statue of himself, a pen, and the two sets of documents.

  Fortunately, the Emperor had a short attention span.

  He finally looked up. Kordas made certain he was wearing a fatuous grin. Merrin was sober, his hands resting on the grip of his Spitter.

  “Well, there you are. Heh. Heh. Heh.” The Emperor’s nasty little smile was back, and he looked more like a toad with hair than ever. “I have your new patents of nobility right here,” he said, and made that “heh-heh” sound again, which was nothing like a laugh. “I trust you will make something noteworthy from your new land, Merrin.”

  Merrin made an inarticulate little sound as the Emperor’s seal-ring came down on each document, burning the certifying sigil in.

  “And you are done.” He did not stand up. Behind him, several more Dolls padded in through the Gate, but the Emperor took no notice of them; Dolls were beneath an Emperor’s notice. The new Dolls took equidistant places among the four already standing immobile against the display cases. Yet another Doll came through the Gate on the other side of the Office, laid down several folders of documents, and refreshed the pens. The Emperor tapped the two newly sealed pages once, then flicked the same finger toward Merrin and Kordas as if flicking off something just pulled from between his teeth. That Doll brought them through the Emperor’s Gate and to the receiving area, giving one copy to each. There was no fanfare, no—anything. Kordas fought back bile at the simplicity of it all; the Emperor could have an entire Duchy change hands without any more effort than swatting a fly. Or eating one, the toad.

  Kordas and Merrin left the receiving area through the gate, following the single Doll, and emerged into the Records Complex, where they were quickly relieved of their outer coats, swords, footwear, and anything else that might have made noise. They took deep breaths, then spoke the destination: the Emperor’s Office.